Molly Hooper wasn't a person who was easily intimidated – after all, she worked with dead bodies for a living (she smirked at the irony), and if that didn't make a girl squeamish, nothing would. But there was one thing that, no matter what Molly did, turned her speech to stutters and her insides to jelly. That something – or rather, someone – was Sherlock Holmes.
Molly wasn't quite sure what it was about the "consulting detective," as he fashioned himself, that fascinated her so much. Maybe those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through Molly's face right into her mind. Maybe the way he dressed – crisply tailored suits and that wool Belstaff coat that so perfectly suited his tall, thin frame. Or perhaps it was just that the man was such an enigma, that he could so easily read other people's secrets but revealed none of his own. Whatever the reason, Sherlock had captured Molly's attention completely.
She'd hardly been at St. Bart's a week when they first met, but she could remember it as if it were yesterday. She was just finishing up the paperwork on the first of her group of bodies when he'd walked in. He gave off the impression that he'd been there before and didn't look nearly so shocked to see Molly as she was to see him.
"Molly Hooper, I presume?" His voice was a deep baritone, but surprisingly soft and musical.
"Y-yes," was her stammered reply.
"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." He offered her a hand, which she shook.
"'Consulting detective?' Don't believe I've heard of those." She inwardly winced at how stupid that sounded.
"It's because I'm the only one in the world – I invented the job. When the police find themselves out of their depths – which is often – they consult me."
"And…you solve their cases for them?" Molly's eyes widened.
"Well, yes…usually," he added, a small smile playing across his thin lips. Molly's stomach did a little flip-flop. Who was this man? Those pale features, the finely chiseled cheekbones, the secretive smile…and his eyes! Goodness they were beautiful! Molly took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure, but it was too late – not even five minutes, and the man had melted her like butter.
"Oh. Um…well then, Mr. Holmes-" Molly began.
"Sherlock, please," he cut in, smiling again.
"Ok…Sherlock. What can I do for you?"
"I believe you have a Dr. Miller in the mortuary today?" he asked. Molly consulted her clipboard.
"Yes, right here. John C. Miller, 57, heart attack," she read.
"Heart attack, you say? Interesting." Sherlock paused. "Might I see the body? Here's the order from the Yard, if it's necessary," he added, removing an official-looking half-sheet of paper from his inner coat pocket and showing it to her. It was indeed from Scotland Yard, signed by one Gregory Lestrade, DI. Molly knew the name – her boss had introduced Lestrade a few days prior.
"Yes…yes of course," she said, returning the order. She unzipped the body bag, and Sherlock was quiet for several minutes as he minutely examined the victim.
"Yes…well, the symptoms seem obvious, but they don't explain the motive," he muttered to himself. Then, "Can I borrow your mobile?"
"Er…sorry?" The question caught Molly off-guard.
"Your mobile phone – can I borrow it?"
"Um…sure?" Molly produced her phone from her lab coat pocket and handed it to Sherlock, who immediately started typing, his long, slender fingers gliding rapidly across the keys.
"What are you doing?" Molly asked.
"Giving you my number," was the response. "I need to know what happens to this body in the next hour, very important, and I prefer to text. Give me a buzz if you see anything." He tossed the phone back to a stunned Molly, who barely caught it. "Very nice meeting you, Miss Hooper. Now remember, the next hour is crucial, so don't leave anything out. Laters!" With a wink and a swish of his coat, he was gone.
Molly sat down on a stool, unable to comprehend what had just happened. This man – this intriguing and unbelievably gorgeous man – had just given her his number? She saw blood, horrible disfigurations, and death every day, but it was only now that, for the first time in her life, Molly Hooper nearly fainted.
